“And look at what you’ve already done.”
I turn to Nico. “It’s true,” he says.
“Ms. Jade?” the reporter prompts. “Do you have anything to say?”
I push my hair behind my ears. Then stand tall and proud. “I want to say that I really believe in what I did. And when you really believe in something, it’s worth fighting for. It’s worth … everything.”
“Even losing your family?”
“I believe my family is worth fighting for, too.”
Nico takes my hand and we push past the reporter as she signs off from her story.
The sun is warm on my shoulders, bouncing off the cars in the parking lot, shooting sparks at my feet. I roll up my shirtsleeves. I want to feel the sun’s heat on my skin. On my face. Like a pinch to my elbow to remind me I’m really here. That today really happened. I want to relish this. But then I turn back and look at my parents one last time. They’re walking together toward the parking lot, holding hands, shoulders slumped. My mom takes her free hand and swipes at her eyes to catch her tears.
I consider running to them. But I don’t know what more I could say. The only thing that will make this better is time.
“Are you okay?” Nico asks.
“I don’t know.” I give my parents another glance. My mom’s dress flutters out behind her. My fingers reach forward as if to grab it. To hold on to some part of something even though she’s too far away.
Why does winning feel so much like losing?
FORTY-FIVE
It’s two o’clock in the afternoon by the time we leave the courthouse. Nico’s mom said she’d get a ride with Laurel so Nico could keep the car. Today is a special occasion. We drive through town, past the library, around the cliffs, and down to the beach. The morning was overcast and chilly, but the clouds have parted now. It’s funny how you can wake up expecting one thing but it can all change by the end of the day.
School’s out now and Nico’s phone has been blowing up with texts ever since sixth period ended. Jared and Tess. His friends—our friends—wanting to know how things went today. When we get back to my street, Nico parks in front of the school instead of my house.
“Come with me real quick. I just need to grab something from my locker.”
I follow him up the steps and down the hallway. Past the lockers and the posters and the smelly walls.
We end up in front of the cafeteria door. He opens it wide, ushering me inside, where the scent of grease and fried food lingers.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
“Look closer.”
The whole film club is at a table in the corner. Now I know each of them by their favorite movie and their favorite karaoke song.
“You’ve always wanted to go to the cafeteria.” Nico tosses me a satisfied smile. “So here we are.” We move closer and I see there’s a carton of Neapolitan ice cream, bowls, and spoons. Plus confetti stars sprinkled across the table. Everyone stands and claps when Nico and I walk up.
“You’re the shit,” Tess says. “Seriously.” She locks her pinkie finger with mine, then pulls me into a hug. “Congratulations, Juniper.”
“You’re like my hero,” Jared says. “For real. Someone needs to make a movie about you.”
I manage to mumble, “Thanks,” as I’m torn between focusing on this celebration here and what awaits me at home.
Tess hands me a spoon. “We didn’t know what flavor you liked best, so we got all three.”
“Strawberry,” I say, sitting down.
Jared puts his arms out like he’s a bouncer assigned to crowd control. “The strawberry section belongs to Juniper, so back off.”
“Dude, we’re good,” Nico says. “Nobody’s gonna fight her over it.”
“Everyone fights over the strawberry ice cream at my house,” I say. “My dad makes it from scratch.”
“That’s so cool,” Tess says. “I love homemade ice cream.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” I say. I dig my spoon into the ice cream and take a bite. It’s not even close to as good as my dad’s, but I didn’t expect it to be.
Tess says, “We figured you should get to celebrate your victory at the best table with the coolest people. Really, it’s the only table you need to know when you start school here.”
“After you get your shots, you can eat lunch with us every day,” Jared says.
“Probably not,” I say.
“What do you mean?” Tess asks.
I take another bite of ice cream. “My parents don’t believe in public school any more than they believe in vaccinations. And even after I get my shots, I won’t be able to enroll without their permission, because I’m a minor.”
Nico huffs. “Sounds like another battle for Laurel.”
“Right? Do you think she’d work pro bono for me again?”
“Wait,” Tess says, her spoon frozen in midair. “You did everything you did to get your vaccines and you still can’t even go to school like you want to?”
I shrug. “Pretty much.”
“Well, that sucks.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve got time to figure it out,” Nico says, bumping my shoulder with his. “Maybe try for next year.”
“You’re better off coming in as a senior anyway,” Jared says around a mouthful of chocolate ice cream. “Sophomore and junior years are like the middle-child years of high school. You’re not a shiny new freshman and you’re not a senior getting ready to graduate. Sophomores and juniors are just kind of … there.”
“Good to know,” I say, smiling.
I spend the next hour trying not to think about what’s waiting for me at home. I try to eat and talk about court and movies, but I can’t help but worry about what Poppy will say to me when I walk through the front door. Or if my parents will say anything at all.
It’s probably better that everyone eventually decides it’s time to head out. For homework and family dinners and guitar lessons. Nico holds my hand as we stroll down the hallway, past the lockers, and through the school. I want to be able to imagine being here next year. Saying good-bye at separate classrooms, then meeting up again for lunch, where we’ll sit with the film club. But I know there’s a lot more work to be done to make that a reality.
Outside, the sun is setting, bruising the sky in bursts of pink and purple.
The JROTC wears fatigues and stands in salute as the flag is lowered at the end of what has been a long and momentous day. For me, at least.
Nico and I linger at the bottom of the steps of the school.
“I’m proud of you,” he says.
“I’m proud of me, too.”
He wraps me in a hug. And when he kisses me, everything else falls away. He tastes like vanilla ice cream and smells like winter. When he stops to come up for air, I pull him back to me so we can kiss some more.
As much as I don’t want to, I know I have to go home.
So I do.
Nico walks me across the street and asks if I want him to come inside.
“No,” I say, because I know it isn’t the right thing right now. Not for him. Not for me.
So I kiss him one last time and watch as he drives away.
I stand on the sidewalk for a moment after he’s gone. I wait and watch the shadows of my family inside my house. Until Poppy suddenly bursts from the front door, startling me from my stupor. She talks over her shoulder, then shuts the door behind her. I watch as she sits on the front porch, book in hand, opening to where she left off reading.
“Hey,” I say, from the end of the front walk.
She purses her lips. “Hey.”
I walk forward. Sink down next to her. “Am I still allowed inside?”
“Possibly,” she says. “Mom made dinner and actually set a place for you.”
“Okay.” I pull my jacket tighter, protecting myself from the cold bite of winter air. “That’s something at least.” Poppy feigns reading, but I can feel her watching me. I eventually stand up and brush off the back of
my skirt. “I might as well go see what’s waiting for me.”
Poppy stands up, too. Shuts her book. “Do you want me to come in with you?”
I’m deeply touched by her offer. It gives me hope. “Only if you want.”
She moves forward, standing closer to me. “Let’s go.”
I nod and brace myself.
Poppy twists the knob. Opens the door. Goes inside.
I hover on the threshold. I can see my mom and dad in the living room. They turn when they see me, their faces mixed with emotions. But also relief. Like they were afraid I might not come back at all and they’re glad I actually did.
I can smell dinner simmering on the stove.
I can see through the living room to the kitchen. To the table set for all five of us. For my whole family.
I take one step and then another, until I’m through the front door, too.
Until I’m home.
ONE MONTH LATER …
The urgent care clinic isn’t crowded.
I sign in at the front desk and hand over my insurance card.
Nico stands by my side. Mrs. Noble is here, just in case, but she’s confident I have all I need, so she takes a seat in a chair in the waiting room and lets me do the talking.
“I’d like to see Dr. Villapando,” I say. “I’m here for my vaccinations. He told me he’d see me if I had my legal paperwork.” I hold up a folder and pat it.
The young woman behind the front desk studies my card. Studies me. “Have a seat and we’ll call you in. It shouldn’t be long. It’s been a slow day.”
“Thank you.”
Nico and I sit in two empty seats next to his mom. I’m too anxious to thumb through any of the celebrity magazines on the table next to me. I simply sit. And wait. Nico puts his hand on my knee to keep it from bouncing.
I’m on sensory overload. There are voices behind the door to the hallway. The sharp smell of antiseptic. Soft shoes shuffling. Pens clicking. Keyboards tapping. Bright fluorescent lights buzzing and flickering.
A patient with his arm in a sling enters and walks to the counter to sign in. And then the nurse opens the door to the hallway and calls my name.
“Well,” I say, standing up and looking at Nico and his mom. “Here I go.”
“Would you like us to come back with you?” Mrs. Noble asks.
“Nope. I need to do this on my own.”
Nico hooks his pinkie finger with mine. “See you on the other side.”
I laugh. “Way to make it not sound scary.”
“Ready?” the nurse asks.
I stand up straight. Smooth out my cardigan. “You have no idea.”
I follow her to the nurses’ station in the hallway behind the door, where she takes my vitals. She weighs and measures me, then shuffles me off to one of the exam rooms, where I sit on the oh-so-familiar paper-covered table and wait for Dr. Villapando.
He isn’t at all surprised to see me.
“You did it,” he says, holding his hand up for a high five.
I slap his hand. “I did. Where do we start? I can pull up a makeup vaccine schedule.” I thumb through my folder.
He gently pushes it away. “I’ve already researched everything. I got curious when you came in demanding your shots the first time.” He shrugs. Smiles. “I guess I had a pretty good feeling you’d be back with everything we needed.” He rubs his hands together. “We should start with the Tdap vaccination today. That’s tetanus, diphtheria, and pertussis, also known as whooping cough. It’ll be two doses. One today and the next one four weeks from now. How does that sound?”
“It sounds good. I trust you.”
He stands up and the stool slides back behind him. “Let me just prep the shot.”
He heads out the door and I sit and wait. My eyes dart to posters and ibuprofen dosage charts and a glass jar of otoscope specula next to the sink until Dr. Villapando returns with a small black tray like you’d get your bill on at a restaurant.
“Okay,” he says, putting on latex gloves. He wipes the top of my arm clean with rubbing alcohol, holds up the syringe, and flicks it once like he’s swatting a mosquito. “You ready?”
“Will it hurt?”
“A little.”
“Okay.” I drag in a breath. Squinch my eyes shut. “Go.”
“It’ll feel like a little pinch, but it’ll be over before you know it.”
He stabs my arm with the needle, and I hiss through my teeth. It hurts more than a pinch. I remember plunging the EpiPen into Nico’s thigh and counting.
One.
Two.
Three.
And then my shot is over. So quick. Like Nico’s EpiPen, something so important, so vital, takes literal seconds.
“All done.” I open my eyes as Dr. Villapando fastens a small circular Band-Aid to my arm. “I usually pass out lollipops.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Want one?”
“I’ll take a lollipop.”
He pulls a yellow one from the front pocket of his lab coat. “Lemon okay?”
I rip off the plastic cover. “Lemon is perfect.”
“Okay, then.” Dr. Villapando shoves the used syringe and latex gloves into an orange hazardous waste receptacle attached to the wall and gathers his little restaurant waiter tray. “See you again in four weeks. I’ll have a lollipop waiting.”
“See you then, Dr. Villapando. And thank you.”
He shakes my hand. “My pleasure, Juniper.”
I follow him out of the exam room. He heads to another patient in another room, and I head back to Nico and his mom. I don’t feel any different, but I also know I’m not the same person who walked in here. I can’t help but smile.
Nico stands up, excited, when he sees me.
“All good?” he asks.
“All great.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
While A Shot at Normal is a work of fiction, it was inspired by reality. In reality, the World Health Organization (WHO) declared the measles to be eliminated in the United States in 2000. At the writing of this book, that eliminated status is threatened due to more and more diagnosed cases of measles every year.
The anti-vax movement is largely responsible for this resurgence, gaining momentum from a now debunked study in 1998 that linked the MMR vaccine to autism. Sadly, this movement, by continuing to spread misinformation about the safety of vaccines, puts the most vulnerable populations—babies, the elderly, and those with compromised immune systems—at the highest risk.
While 95 percent of kindergartners in the US are up-to-date on their vaccinations, an article published by The Washington Post noted that the percentage of unvaccinated children in the United States “has quadrupled since 2001” (“Percentage of Young U.S. Kids Who Don’t Get Vaccinated Has Quadrupled since 2001,” Lena H. Sun, October 11, 2018).
I came to Juniper’s story when I began to envision what the teen years of children whose parents chose not to vaccinate them as babies might look like. Once they were old enough to understand, would they agree with their parents’ choices or question them? What if those choices kept them from something they really wanted, like attending public school or participating in extracurricular activities? At what point does a person have the right to make their own medical choices? Is it eighteen years old? Or should someone younger, like Juniper, have that right? And if so, what might the journey to earning that right look like? What could be gained? What could be lost? These are just a few of the questions I wanted to try to answer in A Shot at Normal.
Certainly, as we learn and grow, it’s important to question things. I hope Juniper’s story will inspire readers to examine some of the tough questions in their own lives.
May they be lucky enough to find the answers.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Sometimes characters jump in front of you, grabbing you by the shoulders and begging you to tell their story. That’s what Juniper Jade did to me. I’m so thankful for everyone who helped me bring her words to the page.
To Joy P
eskin, my brilliant editor. Thank you for having faith that we would find our next story and for sticking by me and cheering me on through the ups and downs of the journey. Your steadfast support means more to me than you could ever know, and it’s truly an honor to work with you.
To Kate Testerman, my equally brilliant agent. Thank you for always believing in me and for being tirelessly optimistic throughout every step of the publishing process. I am forever grateful to you and so honored to be part of the KT Literary family.
To Aurora Parlagreco, the talented designer of the wonderful cover of A Shot at Normal. Thank you for perfectly capturing so much of Juniper’s story. To Elizabeth Lee, thank you for being extraordinarily patient, kind, and reassuring during edits. And to the entire team at Macmillan/FSG, thank you for your endless support of my books and me. I’m a very lucky author.
To Elise Robins and Stacy Wise, my first readers. Thank you for finding what needed to be fixed and loving what worked. This book is better because of you.
To Jeff Zentner, the person I definitely needed on the other end of a panicked email one afternoon. Thank you for your valuable insight into some of the legal bits of Juniper’s story and for your continued support over the years.
To the incredible community of young adult authors, especially Marci Lyn Curtis, Shea Ernshaw, Laurie Elizabeth Flynn, Jeff Garvin, Kerry Kletter, Shannon Parker, Amber Smith, Amy Spalding, Kali Wallace, and Darcy Woods: thank you for supporting and inspiring me. To the passionate YA book bloggers and librarians and booksellers, thank you for the amazing work you do and for sharing my books with readers. And to the best cheering section ever, Carol Adler, Elise Adler, Brooke Barnum, Lori Carter, Louisa Cushman, Laura DePetra, Jenny Fix, Brooke Hodess, Julie Laing, Gus Mastrapa, Kat Monk, Jenny Moore, Lisa Pak, Carli Parker, Gwynn Parker, Michelle Phillips, Missy Robertson, Mike Shore, Amy Slack, Molly Sampson (an extra hug to you for walking me through some of the legal parts of Juniper’s story), Geri Shapiro, Melody Stanger, Dina Stern, Mariano Svidler, Jane Tate, Aliza Zarcoff, and Stacey Zarcoff, thank you so much!
To my mom, my biggest fan, thank you for always being excited about every little thing. You remind me to celebrate it all, too. And to my brother, Michael, thank you for being almost as excited as Mom.
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